


Through the fair

by StealingPennies



Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 19:19:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StealingPennies/pseuds/StealingPennies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Any day that provided the opportunity for some sharp shooting, a heroic rescue and a thoroughly-slimed Danny Quinn must be a good day.<br/>Written for the Primeval Denial Art Challenge Prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through the fair

Written for the Primeval Denial Art Challenge organised by lsellersfic. Lovely original art this story is based on can be found here: http://clea2011.livejournal.com/55629.html#comments

**THROUGH THE FAIR**

Any day that provided the opportunity for some sharp shooting, a heroic rescue and a thoroughly-slimed Danny Quinn must be a good day. Becker shifted his hands on the wheel to accommodate a sharp turn in the road and grimaced as the sudden movement caused his soaked passengers to slide across their seats.

“Dammit, Becker!” yelled Quinn, slamming a hand on the dash to save himself from hitting the gearstick.

Connor’s “Becker!” from the backseat was altogether more subdued and accompanied by a thump and a somewhat squishy “ow” illustrating that Conn’s reactions had been much slower and rather less successful.

OK, so perhaps not a one hundred per cent unqualified good day. Pretty mixed, really. Say fifty/fifty. A bit rubbish in parts, but at least they were all alive and one small corner of the world was a safer place.

There had been long hours of anxious waiting, confusion, and downright panic at the end when it looked like the anomaly was closing on them. Connor was uncharacteristically quiet even allowing for his being held captive, almost killed and as extensively drenched in green insect entrails as Quinn. Of course, there was something more going on, but now was not the time for recriminations. They’d already had one argument.

Not wanting to more add more bruises to the collection Connor was already sporting Becker eased his foot off the accelerator, opened his window to its widest point, and resigned himself to travelling with the incredible stench of exploded beetle and a pissed off Danny Quinn for longer than anticipated and much, much longer than desired.

Eventually they hit the M40 where Friday night traffic made the journey even slower and correspondingly more frustrating. Connor fell asleep in the back and Quinn complained loudly and extensively about his goo layer solidifying before moving onto the general incompetence of other drivers in general, and Becker in particular, until Becker finally snapped that Quinn should have gone home with Abby like Becker had asked him to and switched on the radio to drown out the complaints.

“Thought you might like the company,” replied Quinn, blandly. Then he shut up as a series of pips announced the news.

They were the first item on the agenda; industrialist killed as food manufacturing facility explodes in suspected gas leak. There was no mention of anomalies, over-sized insects or murderous industrialists. Jenny’s doing no doubt. Becker took a moment to admire her professional competence, and the widespread remembered relief when Lester had managed to change her mind about resigning, as he indicated to change lanes. The news report concluded with a statement from the police that they were not looking for anyone else in connection with the case before moving on to announce an increase in the Retail Price Index for the sixth month running.

Quinn yawned and then complained that it made his face crack. He fiddled with the radio, channel hopping until he came to a rundown of the charts. Becker hated pop music. He especially hated the chart show with its perky presenters and their fake cheerful banter.

Viewed through the mirror Connor was all hunched shoulders and a tangled mess of green and brown hair. His face was turned away, resting on one bruised wrist against the window. It should be funny. It needed to be funny. Becker’s spirits drained with the day. It wasn’t really funny at all. When it came down to it, anomalies never were. Becker drove on in silence just wanting to get home.

*  
Waking up with a partner was still new enough that Becker did a double take on realising he was not alone. After the first shock he lay still for a few minutes savouring the feel of warm limbs wrapped limpet-like around him and a head lying heavy on his shoulder. Connor was a cuddler.

This was a strange and new experience for Becker, whose formative examples of intimacy had consisted of firm handshakes and cheek-to-cheek kisses, and who had previously tended to follow through the family tendency to aloofness by expressing gratitude and retreating politely after sex to his own side of the bed. As a gentleman he made sure to take the wet patch. This had never seemed to be a problem. But then again Becker had never managed much in the way of long-term relationships.

The first time he had eased carefully out of Connor and shifted a foot sideways Connor had not similarly shuffled to his own side of the bed, but had stared wide-eyed at Becker with an expression that could best be described as crushed. Becker might not be the most emotionally aware person but he didn’t need anyone to tell him that his boyfriend not only did not understand the need for post-coital personal space, he viewed such a withdrawal as active rejection.

In theory this was one of the things they were working towards, finding a happy equilibrium between too much and too little. In practice Becker now regularly emerged from slumber with Connor draped over his chest.

Becker’s payback was making Connor, who was emphatically not a morning person, get up earlier than he was used to, or wanted to, so that there was time for both a healthy breakfast and for clearing the breakfast dishes before leaving for work. Since Becker’s chosen ‘wake-up’ call was sex he didn’t think Connor was too unhappy about the arrangement despite the numerous complaints that fell out of his mouth.

Connor was whining again now. Or possibly begging. It was hard to make the actual words out.

“Didn’t quite catch that,” said Becker, with mildly sadistic enjoyment. “Can you repeat it?”

“Just…fuck…me.” Connor gasped out the single syllables between harsh intakes of breath.

He lay on his back, hair mussed from sleep and looking a picture of sweaty debauchery against the rumpled sheets. His wrists were pinned above his head, caught firmly in Becker’s right hand, preventing any moves towards self-fulfilment.

“If you’re still capable of coherent speech than I’m clearly doing something wrong.”

Becker pushed up and flexed his slickened fingers in a move guaranteed to put a stop any further higher thought and was rewarded by a sound that definitely meant ‘please’ and ‘more’ but did not resemble any known language. Satisfied that Connor was appropriately desperate Becker gave one final twist of his wrist and withdrew his hand. He lined up his cock to Connor’s loosened hole before leaning forward and catching his lover’s mouth in a deep kiss at the same time as he pushed inwards in one steady movement. For a moment Becker was overcome with the feeling of almost too-tight heat.

“Alright?” he whispered against Connor’s lips. The answer was a shaky nod. Still Becker waited a further few seconds until he felt the body underneath his start to relax before pulling back and starting to thrust in earnest.

Early morning sex was the best way to start a day.

*  
The Trent Forest anomaly was intermittent. It may have been present for years, flickering on for a few minutes or hours at a time and then disappearing. Now it was either getting stronger or the increasing sophistication of the ARC’s detectors at registering trace disturbances from dormant anomalies was starting to pay off. The ARC machines had mapped the location for reference – Connor had a theory about ley lines and compass points being able to predict future sites – but so far had done nothing further. This was a holding pattern they had established in several areas borne out of the combined necessity of limited staff numbers and the need for secrecy. The situation was hardly ideal but it was the best they could do under the circumstances.

Location maps did not provide much further information. The Trent Forest anomaly was situated in an area of woodland within which was housed a medium-sized food processing plant. Without the benefit of Connor’s most recently developed anomaly detector it may never have been known, sited as it was on private land and with no reports of any creature incursions to excite interest.

However, when Sarah started to research the surrounding area for possible historic incursions there were enough red flags to start alarm bells ringing. The production plant had once been a major employer for Trent Forest, but was now fully-automated thanks to massive investment by the grandson of the original owner, Edward Farley. Farley’s Forest Pasties (FFP) Ltd had duly changed its strapline from ‘handmade’ to ‘homemade’ while keeping the image of the original Edwardian workers pictured on its label. At the time there had been a number of protests from staff made redundant under the new regime but that was hardly an unusual occurrence and it barely caused a ripple outside of the local press. Farley had also updated the company’s traditional recipes with the result that for the first time FFP’s products were winning prizes in consumer tastings.

As his company increased in profits Edward Farley had instigated a number of privacy measures culminating in an electric fence surrounding his land. The Ramblers Association was engaged in an on-going fight to restore the access from public footpaths, so far without success; any intruders not put off by the electric fence were escorted firmly off the premises by a private security firm.

But it wasn’t electric fences or labour disputes that had sparked Sarah’s interest.

Over a three year period there had been five unsolved cases of missing children within a fifteen mile radius. The most recent, dating from 2007, involved a trio of boys who had last been seen waiting to catch a bus from their school in the centre of town. CCTV showed the grainy images of the three, still wearing their school blazers, as they walked along the high street. It was presumed that there had been some sort of accident involving the nearby canal or one of the shafts from the now-closed collieries, but extensive searching had failed to yield either bodies or clues.

Sarah tapped a button and the haunted face of one of the missing children’s mothers stared out from a news report published at the time. Kevin, Shane and Ian had been just 12 years old. The gap between the cases, the fact that the earlier two incidents involved slightly older girls, and the relatively wide radius of the children’s homes, coupled with the complete lack of physical evidence had meant that the individual cases had never been linked up.

“I think we should go down and investigate,” she announced in her forthright fashion. “There’s something very peculiar happening with that anomaly. I just know that all these things are linked up and just because we haven’t heard of a creature outbreak it doesn’t mean that one hasn’t happened.”

“And do exactly what?” The height of Lester’s eyebrows indicated exactly what he thought of this plan, but just in case, he laid it out clearly. “There are plenty of good old-fashioned evil people in this world who are quite capable of abducting and killing children for their own sick reasons. That’s why we have the police force. This isn’t the Scooby-Doo show and we are not private detectives. It’s one thing to go and close an active anomaly and quite another to break into private property where, as far we know, no creature incursions have ever taken place and no crime has ever been committed. Furthermore, there’s no apparent pattern to the openings. We have enough trouble on our own account without going looking for more.”

“No, because it would so much better to wait for a few more children to go missing so we can be confident that we’re not wasting our time and treading on police toes,” replied Sarah, her voice rising in anger.

Lester did not respond but the look he gave her was enough to cause her to mutter “Sorry.” and start fiddling awkwardly with her pen.

“But suppose we just happened to be around and the anomaly was to open?” mused Becker, innocently. Like Sarah he felt the number of disappearances too high to be coincidental. Even with their limited resources it seemed imperative to do something. “It doesn’t appear entirely predictable but there is a certain frequency to the appearances on the ADD.”

“Did you not pay attention to what I just said? Have I become invisible or has everyone suddenly gone deaf?” Lester waved a hand dramatically in front of his face before falling into his habitual stress gesture of fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. The springs of his executive chair creaked slightly with the motion. “I really don’t know why I bother. You people refuse to be managed.”

“The breaking in will be easy,” said Quinn, getting a speculative look on his face. “We can be in and out in a morning and no one the wiser. Maybe we’ll get lucky and the anomaly will open and we can shut it just for general safekeeping with no harm done either side. It’ll be a good training exercise. What say you, Becker?”

The question was accompanied by a hearty elbow to Becker’s ribs that made Becker long to give into the childish and highly unprofessional urge of shoving Danny Quinn right back. He didn’t. Quinn’s grin was infuriating and suggested that he had read Becker’s mind and was struggling not to laugh despite the topic of conversation.

“We can send a small team down to have a look around without the need for trespass,” said Becker resolutely ignoring his aching ribs and addressing his remark to Lester.

“Spoilsport,” muttered Quinn, before adding at normal volume. “Trespassing’s the fun bit.”

Lester sighed, recognising when he was defeated. “Whatever. Danny, you take Abby and Connor and see if there’s anything untoward happening. Becker, assign two of your more discreet and less trigger-happy men to go with them. Just ask questions and look around the town or something. At least try not to get into trouble.” He added, half to himself, in a tone of long-suffering, “I could have been something high ranking in the Foreign Office and had a nice air-conditioned office somewhere civilised like Azerbaijan. It would have been a lot easier. But, no, here I am marooned in the wilds of Zone 2. I just know that something is going to go explosively wrong.”

*

Something had gone wrong.

*

Becker had kept up-to-date with the happenings in Trent Forest by way of the official check-ins and from Connor’s rather less professional messages and accompanying image attachments. There was a picture of the brightly painted town sign – a silhouette of a pit engine, a pie, and a canal boat – one of the canal, and then one of a bakery. This last was followed in quick succession by an unflattering picture of Quinn eating one of the award-winning Farley’s Forest pasties, and a similar even less flattering self-portrait of Connor doing the same with crumbs sprinkled around his mouth and on his gloves. The set was completed by Abby scrunching up her features in disgust and holding a hand up in front of her mouth. Becker laughed, pushed his phone back into his pocket, and returned to writing his reports. At least someone was having fun.

A picture of a dead beetle-like creature was the first intimation that everything was not as it should be. The team had given up on the town centre and were investigating the public footpaths that circumnavigated the food factory. Connor had helpfully placed a cheap plastic ballpoint pen by the insect for scale. It and the creature were roughly the same length. Becker’s experience with insects was admittedly not extensive but he was willing to bet that 15-cm beetles with bodies the size of a man’s hand were not native to the West Midlands. Their pincers looked like lobster claws.

As team leader Quinn had texted that they were splitting up to cover more ground. He and Connor were going to break through the electric fence while Abby and the soldiers continued to search the perimeter.

Sarah acknowledged the message and Becker tried not to worry. ‘Break through’ covered a lot of possibilities and although he trusted Connor’s technical skills and Quinn’s downright sneakiness there was still the possibility of accidents. His apprehension was compounded when the ADD suddenly flared back into life showing that the Trent Forest anomaly was once again active.

“At least they can close the bloody thing while they’re out there,” said Becker, his unease manifesting as irritation. He picked up a small rubber ball printed with stars that was sitting on the desk and threw it across the room. It hit a partition screen and dropped to the floor with a dull thud.

“Hey, that was mine!”

Sarah shot him a look of reproach as she tapped out keys. She didn’t want to be stuck in the office either. Becker squeezed her shoulder in silent apology and went to retrieve the toy. Inaction combined with a sense of powerlessness was the worst kind of frustration. It reminded Becker of army stakeouts and the endless wait for orders from on high. He told himself that the team were all experienced in the field, and that his men and Quinn, at least, were both confident and competent with weapons, and prepared to shoot to kill. Not that that would be necessary.

Abandoning the pretence of doing other work Becker made coffee for himself and for Sarah and joined her at the central control station. The anomaly was still open but there had been no response to Sarah’s repeated calls to either radio or personal phones. She tried again on Becker’s return from the kitchen. There was still nothing from Quinn or Connor. They had better luck with Abby. She had the equipment to close the anomaly with her but not the exact location. Plus they needed Connor to operate the machine.

Her worried voice came over the speaker. “I don’t know where they are. Everything’s quiet but we’re at least half a mile away from the anomaly site and I haven’t been able to contact Danny or Connor since they went under the fence.”

Sarah stared at the flashing ADD screen, her lips set in a thin-line before swinging around to face Becker.

He answered her silent question. “Not good. I think we need to get down there now. Instruct Jackson’s team to get kitted up and to meet me in the car park in ten minutes.” Then he spoke directly to Abby.

“Abby, you’re to stay outside the fence and remain unobtrusive until we get there. You are not to go in and try and find Connor and Danny until we know more about the situation. Do you understand?” No reply. Becker repeated the message. “Abby, do you understand? You are to stay where you are until we send reinforcements or have a definite distress message.”

Becker could sense her unwillingness as she tried a different approach. “But what about the anomaly? We should find it and get the machines set up so they’re ready for operation. That way we won’t waste any time later.”

“Forget about the anomaly for now. We know it’s not going anywhere. The important thing is to find Connor and Danny and make sure they’re safe. Getting into a potentially dangerous situation yourself is no help at all.” She didn’t reply so Becker relayed the instruction for the third time. “You’re to stay put, Abby. Do you understand?”

Again silence. This was tricky, as a civilian Abby didn’t technically work on the same management lines and Becker had no real authority to demand her compliance.

Then Lester spoke from behind him in a voice he rarely used. “That’s an order, Abigail.”

Becker could hear the reluctance as she finally assented. “Understood.”

Becker paused to throw a single grateful “thanks” at Lester before running past him towards the armoury to collect his guns.

*

Becker wasn’t naturally a patient man. He had taught himself patience over the years but it never came easy and now his instinct was to rush into an SUV and drive like hell. He didn’t. That kind of reckless behaviour never ended well – especially not when there could be lives at stake. He paused at the central atrium for a final consultation with Sarah. Abby had briefly made contact again and said they had found several more of the beetles. These were alive and, she thought, could possibly be part of a nest. So that meant a definite creature incursion. Damn, thought Becker, and only realised he had spoken aloud when Sarah echoed the sentiment.

“Damn, indeed.”

Abby planned to trap and contain the beetles in sealed boxes that would either be brought back to the ARC or somehow returned through the anomaly. She favoured the latter. Becker agreed that this would be preferable but again insisted she stay put until he arrived. Two missing people were enough. At any rate, Abby sounded more resigned than rebellious with a task to get on with while waiting. There might be more nests to find now that they knew what they were looking for.

Jackson and his team were waiting in the garage when Becker arrived. Alongside the core role of medic, Becker was pleased to see ‘Jack’ had chosen five men from what Lester would no-doubt have described as the more trigger-happy contingent. Becker greeted them with a swift nod as he climbed into the driver’s seat of the SUV. Jackson took shotgun by his side. Becker tossed his phone over and Jackson quickly programmed the sat nav, relaying the coordinates to the second vehicle as he worked. As soon as they cleared the exit ramps, Becker accelerated hard, thankful that the roads were not yet jammed with school or work traffic. Lester could deal with the inevitable fines later. Right now Becker couldn’t give a toss about how many speed cameras he set off.

*

They found Abby crouching over two crates full of insects that were just beginning to awaken from a smoke-induced sleep and desire freedom. The creatures scrabbled over each other in agitation, their hard bodies making little clicking noises as they moved and their pincers opening and shutting threateningly. Becker repressed a shudder. There was something in the heaving mass of bodies with their shiny iridescent cases that seemed deeply unnatural. Insects really shouldn’t be that size.

“Any news?” he asked as Abby rose to greet him, brushing grass off her knees.

She shook her head. “Nothing. Jonas has tested the phone links around the whole of the perimeter and there’s nothing wrong with them. So either there is something inside the fence jamming them, or Danny and Connor are not there, or they’ve switched off their communicators.”

Becker considered the possibilities. Quinn was quite capable of shutting off communication if he wanted to do something borderline illegal but he wouldn’t do it without giving some sort of safety time frame. It didn’t look good. “We’ll have to go in,” he said, voicing his thoughts out loud.

“Really? Are you sure you don’t want to wait a little longer – give it another ten minutes for good luck?” asked Abby with heavy sarcasm. She looked like she was itching for a verbal confrontation.

Becker didn’t blame her but at the same time he had no intention of wasting any more time smoothing her ruffled feathers. She would just have to get over herself.

He spoke briskly. “You wanted action, you’re getting action. Now come on.”

Swinging up a crate into his arms, Becker hefted it to the back of a truck and placed it inside gently so as not to further upset the creatures. The second crate was placed alongside. Then the two teams piled back into their vehicles and headed back to the main road and towards the main factory gates. This time Abby sat by Becker filling him in with more details on the creatures they had found.

Trent Forest itself had looked like a typically run-down former industrial town as they had driven through. The forest area provided a welcome contrast with patches of grass and wild flowers interspersed by dense areas of oak, chestnut and silver birch that framed the road and cast dancing shadows with their overhanging branches. A roe deer standing in a pool of sunlight ran away startled by the sound of their cars. It was pretty by any standards, had Becker been in a mood to appreciate the scenery.

The explosion sounded out of nowhere as they were approaching the main factory entrance with its imposing painted sign and elaborately crafted Edwardian wrought-iron gate. Becker, who had slowed down prior approaching the rather more modern visitor’s check-in station with its push button entry phone just outside, reacted instinctively. With the after-shocks still shaking the trees around them, Becker turned the SUV round sharply and drove back the way they had come. Once he judged they were far enough he braked and turned so they were once again facing the gates. Thank god for reinforced steel, he thought, as he pressed his foot flat to the floor, driving straight towards the central point where the two edges of the metal gate met.

“Hold on!” he advised Abby without taking his eyes from his intended target. He hoped it was held by just a simple locking mechanism rather than something more heavy-duty.

The metal gave with a crash and the SUV jumped at the impact. In the back seat the newest Special Forces operative, Rob McLachlan, who was on his first mission, was cackling like a madman. This was more like it! “Fuck, yeah!” he yelled pumping his fist. Becker grinned in response to the sudden adrenaline rush. He knew he could trust his men to have his back whatever they found.

 

The factory was a typical one storey metal construction with a couple of temporary office buildings set to one side. The explosion had ripped out much of one side leaving a tangle of metal, concrete and broken glass. Smoke billowed from the wreckage but there were no visible flames. Thank god for that. His men, and Abby, who had now acquired a heavy-duty assault rifle, fanned around the building. There was no sign of any occupants. Leaving a guard outside Becker led the way into the factory.

There was no need to break in. Becker simply stepped over the rubble and he was inside. Once past the initial wreckage, which seemed, so far as he could tell, to be the result of some sort of pressure build-up in the pipes rather than any sort of incendiary charge, the bulk of the structure was still intact and, at least for the moment, seemed in no danger of falling down. Initially clouds from fallen plasterboard made breathing difficult but luckily the dust was only a problem near the blast site itself. Jackson took his right hand side, Abby followed slightly behind. Becker badly wanted to tell her to go back but knew it would be a wasted effort.

The electrics had been burnt out, and away from the open wall the central corridor of the building was dark except for the uneven light from rooms set to either side. Jackson had a torch but they only needed it for a short while. Within minutes there came a familiar flickering glow casting shadows. Rounding a corner into what had obviously been some kind of a processing lab they saw the anomaly itself.

It was about eight foot high by six foot across and hovered perhaps a foot off floor level.

In silent assent they skirted around the walls of the room but there was still no sign of any occupants. There were, however, dozens and dozens of empty cages of the kind used to transport animals but made of plastic rather than metal. Of course, thought Becker, anything magnetic would have been swept away immediately in an enclosed space with an anomaly of that strength and size.

“So this is what all the fuss is about. It’s like something from a film,” said McLachlan who was last to enter the room. This was his first anomaly and the look of wonder on his face made it obvious that as far as he was concerned it was thing of beauty.

“Don’t be fooled by the pretty, they’re fickle bitches, and liable to spit out all kinds of dangerous crap,” warned Jackson, motioning with an arm that his colleague was to stay back.

McLachlan nodded but it was clear he didn’t really comprehend just how dangerous a doorway the glittering mass could be. He’d learn.

“Do we go through?” asked Abby. Her blonde hair had picked up the light and framed her pixie face with an otherworldly glow. Becker was grateful that she’d asked and hadn’t simply gone haring off as he replied in the negative.

“Not yet. We need to look around here properly first. You get the creatures from the truck and the anomaly closing equipment so we can set that up ready to be used. Jackson and I will carry on checking the rest of the factory. McLachlan can stay and watch over the anomaly.”

He gripped McLachlan’s arm to make the point. “Listen, Rob, if there’s any change in the anomaly, it starts to flicker, or if something or someone comes out of it, you call for backup. Otherwise stay quiet. If there is anything lurking in the rest of the building we don’t want to alert it too easily to our presence.”

Abby had already disappeared before Becker finished speaking. Leaving McLachlan to guard the site, Becker followed Jackson out the glowing room and back into the central corridor. Jackson kept his torch switched on as they went, swinging its beam slowly and methodically from side to side, ceiling to floor, so that if there was something of importance to find they wouldn’t miss it.

Some of the side rooms had natural light but the main processing areas had been built without windows or skylights. Fear of industrial espionage, Becker supposed, he knew that many successful companies kept their recipes and production processes firmly under wraps. There were security cameras at regular intervals. That didn’t surprise him either. They already knew that Farley was paranoid about intruders.

At first the only sound was of their footsteps as they walked slowly along the building. After a while these were joined by a low thrumming sound that became louder as they went. It sounded like an emergency generator, suggested Jackson. Becker agreed. It would be unlikely that a manufacturing facility like this would have made no provision for sudden fluctuations in power.

The rooms in this part of the building seemed to be part of the main preparation and cooking process and contained large stainless steel machines fitted with conveyor systems. They were standing idle but piles of trays and catering trolleys lined the walls ready for use. Becker was beginning to wonder if he had made a mistake and they should have gone through the anomaly when there was the sudden unmistakable crack of a gun being fired and a cry cut off abruptly.

He pushed past Jackson and ran towards the sound. These rooms were the main kitchens themselves. The stench of burnt animal flesh was strong enough to block out the acrid smell of smoke from the initial explosion. Two of the three giant industrial vats had burst their lids and bubbled and frothed with an unattractive and pungent yellowy green sludge. Becker suppressed an urge to heave as he ran across the room, slipping and sliding on the puddles of spilt liquid as he crossed the tiled floor guided only by the bouncing light of the torch Jackson was carrying as he followed.

They found them in what appeared to be an office. This room had windows, thank goodness. Connor was tied to an old-fashioned wooden chair. Danny was sprawled sitting with his back against a wall holding his pistol in both hands. They were both spotted with droplets of the green muck. On the floor between them was the body of a man lying face down on the floor. Blood formed an uneven puddle from beneath the crumpled folds of his suit. It was clear from his unnatural stillness that he was dead.

Quinn had automatically raised his gun and pointed it in the direction of the new arrivals but dropped the barrel downwards when he who saw who it was. “You took your time,” he complained. “Where’s the rest of the cavalry?”

“Didn’t want to deprive you of your chance to shine,” replied Becker, focusing his attention on Connor. “The others are keeping an eye on the anomaly. Are you hurt, Conn?” he asked, unable to resist a brief feather kiss to the hollow of Connor’s neck as he knelt to untie the ropes holding Connor captive.

Connor fidgeted in his seat. “No. No, I’m fine. Can you hurry up? Is the anomaly still open? Farley said it rarely stayed open for more than three or four hours at a time. It properly screwed up production, he said, as he needed to empty the factory immediately each time it was expected to appear. He wanted to know if there was something to control it.”

“I take it Farley’s the man on the floor?” asked Becker. He was working with a knife on the cords trying Connor’s wrists. “For goodness sake, stop moving or I’ll end up cutting you.”

He felt obscurely flattened by Connor’s lack of welcome but brushed it aside to get on with the job. This wasn’t exactly the place for tender caresses.

“Sorry,” said Connor, not sounding it, but obediently holding still while Becker cut the ropes binding his wrists. He seemed to pick up on Becker’s mood. “I’m glad you’re here. I just...I need to get to the anomaly. Are you sure it’s still open?”

“The anomaly’s fine. I told McLachlan to shout if there was any change or activity coming from that direction. Abby’s set up the kit so you can close it as soon as we get you free. Now, is someone going to tell me why there’s a dead man on the floor?”

Quinn supplied the information. “That, as you have probably guessed, is the late and unlamented Mr Farley’s Pasties who did not like people snooping around his factory. He had a nasty way of dealing with intruders which young Connor was shortly going to experience personally.”

Quinn paused and regarded the gun he still held loosely in his hand. He seemed in no hurry to move from his position on the floor. Becker considered this but Quinn didn’t seem to be injured so he was probably just being contrary.

Quinn clicked the safety catch on his gun and put it down. He looked over again at Becker and concluded his story briskly. “Edward Farley, owner of Farley’s Forest Pasties, fine foods from the future in case you haven’t yet made the connection. He’d come across a cheap and apparently inexhaustible source of protein and wasn’t about to let it go to waste.”

Becker hadn’t spared the time to think about the cages and their contents but now the pieces fell into place. “Bloody hell!” He paused then added, “Presumably they weren’t that green when they were fully cooked. I hope your digestion’s good.”

“Fuck off,” said Quinn.

Becker couldn’t quite blame him. As Quinn had finished speaking Becker had cut through the last knotted strand on Connor’s wrists and unwound the cords from around the wooden slats of the chair. Once free Connor staggered up, arms windmilling slightly as he tried to get the circulation back, and sprinted out of the room. Becker stared after him.

Quinn finally decided that now would be a good time to get up. He moved to Farley’s body and pressed a finger against the man’s neck, not that there any doubt that he was dead. “No need for a medic.” He sounded strangely unconcerned about the fact he just killed a man. Becker recognised the detachment. The reality of taking a life would hit later.

Abandoning the examination of Farley’s corpse, Quinn looked across at Becker and Jackson. “Time to get going,” he said. “There’s already been one explosion and Farley was definitely nuts enough to have rigged traps around the building.”

“No arguing here. As soon as Connor’s shut the anomaly we’re getting out. You’d better call Lester the moment we get a signal and warn him there’s going to be a major clean-up operation needed and a product recall on health and safety grounds.”

“That’ll go down well,” said Quinn. “This day is turning out just great.”

Becker laughed as he left the room.

 

He expected to be greeted by a team packing up and ready to vacate the premises. Instead the anomaly was still in place, glowing and pulsating, and his forces men and Abby were watching it open-mouthed.

“Where’s Connor?” Becker asked, surprised.

Abby pointed.

 

Becker always felt a frisson of anxiety on occasions he had to jump through these time portals – even when the creatures coming through had given them an approximate time period for reference there was no real clue about what they would find on the other side. If Becker was afraid now it was masked by such an intense feeling of rage that no other emotion had any chance of making its way through. What the hell was Connor playing at? Was he even armed? If he hadn’t got himself killed already Becker was going to fucking kill him as soon as he dragged him back to safety.

Beetle-world, for lack of a better name, could have been in the extreme past or the far future for all Becker knew. It was certainly a bleak place with red sandy soil spotted with what looked like termite hills and wizened trees without leaves. The temperature was summer-warm and the sky a cloudless blue. After the relative darkness of the factory building Becker found himself blinking rapidly against the sudden brightness.

He looked around. There wasn’t much to see, with the only feature a series of nearby cliffs dotted with what appeared to be cave entrances on several levels. There was no sign of Connor but with the landscape flat on the remaining three sides and no visible movement on the horizon Becker turned and headed for the cliffs as his likeliest destination.

Occasional specks of sludge and footprints from Connor’s boots marked the way and told Becker he had guessed right. More worryingly the sands were criss-crossed with other larger prints that most certainly did not belong to human shoes. Fear did come now and a spine-tingling feeling of being watched, though quick glance around still showed no other life forms. Behind him, the anomaly shivered and glimmered in the hot sun. Was that a heat haze or was it the first sign of fading? Becker really needed to find Connor quickly. He started to sprint, his gun thumping heavily against hip and thigh with each stride, mouth too dry to swallow.

He found Connor in the second cave, crouched over a pile of sand and stones. It smelt musty in here, cool and stale with a hint of some unknown animal. Connor looked up at Becker’s arrival but did not pause in whatever it was he was doing. Becker should have felt relieved, but paradoxically the fact that Connor was uninjured and apparently oblivious to the trouble he was causing, added fresh fuel to the rage that previously been subsiding.

Barely aware of what he was doing, Becker stalked over and grabbed Connor by the shoulders roughly pulling him up and round so they were facing each other.

“What the bloody hell do you think you are playing at?” he asked furiously, fingers digging in to prevent Connor’s attempted escape. Connor visibly flinched at this handling but Becker was too far gone to stop. He pushed in deeper, hard enough to bruise, feeling the muscles shift under his thumbs as he held his captive tight. “Well? I’m waiting for an explanation.”

“Let go of me.”

Connor didn’t really do shouting. He talked a lot, often loudly and excitably but when he really meant something he said it simply and without fuss. It acted like a bucket of cold water. Becker immediately dropped his hands and took a step back. He was still angry but the anger was now mixed with shame. Connor looked shaken but determined. Becker didn’t want to imagine what he looked like. He forced himself to speak calmly, “What exactly are you doing, Connor?”

“Looking for proof,” said Connor as if that should mean something. “We haven’t got much time before the anomaly shuts so I have to get on with searching.”

“Proof of what? What’s so important that we’re risking our lives here?”

“No one asked you to come.” However Connor intended it, the words came out sulky and Becker reacted accordingly.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he snapped. “It’s my job to protect you. If you insist on doing something stupid then, yes, someone has to risk their life alongside you.”

“And that person’s you?”

“I wasn’t going to risk anyone else’s life on a whim.”

“Is that what you think of me? That I’m completely stupid and I’m risking your life on a whim?” Suddenly Connor was blinking back tears. He made a move to get past Becker who put a hand out to stop him and then dropped it without making contact.

“Conn!”

Connor sniffled and pulled himself together with an obvious effort. “We don’t have time for this. I’m going to look in the next cave. OK? And, just so we’re clear about it, you’re not my line manager and you don’t get to order me about and tell me what to do. Not here and not now.”

“What exactly are we looking for?” asked Becker, still confused. He forced to himself to focus. He was a trained soldier. He could put his personal feelings aside, at least for the moment.

“Bones,” replied Connor. “Clothing, I don’t know, anything that proves a death.”

“The missing children,” said Becker, finally understanding at least on one level. “But Connor, it’s been years, if they are here then they’re dead and nothing you can do will help them now. It’s not a whim but neither is it worth risking yourself for.”

“No, we can’t help them,” agreed Connor. “But you saw that woman’s face. We can give her proof and some kind of closure. We have to at least try. Professor Cutter would have done it.”

Becker gave up. Unwittingly or not, Connor had come up with the one argument against which no rational defence would hold force. There was nothing he could say about Nick Cutter.

The next two caves were also empty while the fourth had suffered some sort of rock fall that had buried all but the first few metres past the opening. They were in the fifth when Conner spotted a small bundle of clothing and a rucksack lying half buried by fallen soil. They were brushing away the debris when Quinn’s voice became audible, shouting their names. Connor stayed gathering up the pathetic remains while Becker called out to let Quinn know their exact location, moving to stand at the cave entrance so that Quinn would see as well as hear him.

“The anomaly?” Becker asked as soon as he was able to speak without shouting.

“Still there, getting weaker,” said Quinn, running the last few metres that would bring them together. “But that’s not the most pressing of our problems. There’s some hungry-looking bear-like things creeping around this place. Has Connor found anything?”

“Just,” said Becker, adding coldly. “You should have stopped him, Danny.”

“Connor,” shouted Quinn over Becker’s shoulder and into the cave. “We need to get out of here.” He dropped his voice so that only Becker could hear. “You’re right. I should maybe have guessed and stopped him or gone instead of him but that’s between Connor and me and not you and me. Keep your relationship out of this.” He raised his voice again as Connor approached. The tiny rucksack still speckled with dirt was slung was over one shoulder, clothes haphazardly gathered in his hands. “Whatever you’ve found, Connor, that’ll have to be enough. There’s no time for more searching. Push everything into the rucksack as you’ll need your hands for shooting. Lots of nasty beasties around.”

“Bugs?” Connor looked doubtful but he did as requested, slinging the now bulging rucksack back over his shoulder before taking the weapon Quinn was holding out to him.

Quinn laughed. He was always at his best in a crisis. “You wish! No, these are definitely more on the large carnivorous side of the food chain and they’re not too happy about intruders messing about in their caves. I’m hoping we can fire a few rounds and scare them off. You go first, just run as fast as you can towards the anomaly and fire at anything you see moving. Becker and I will follow.”

The words were followed by a push to the back and Connor took off. Becker looked at Quinn who laughed again in honest enjoyment. “What? You can go last, if you want. Hero isn’t in my job description.”

Quinn raised his assault rifle and fired off a couple of rounds across the mouths of the caves. “That should hold them!” he grinned and started running.

Becker took a final glance into the interior of the cave, not sure what he was looking for and not finding anything anyway, before following. Quinn’s shot seemed to have galvanised the hidden cave beasts rather than put them off and he was conscious of the echo of running feet dogging his footsteps. He caught up with Quinn who had in turn caught up with Connor who was a slower runner than either. The anomaly was definitely flickering now. Becker grabbed Connor’s wrist not caring if it hurt from where the ties had been earlier and pulled him along to gain a few extra seconds. They fell through the portal, still attached, staggering and dropping to their knees at the sudden change in floor level. As Becker let go of his hold Connor was already pulling away.

“Close it before it closes itself or something comes through,” urged Becker, spinning round still on the floor and preparing to shoot.

Quinn jumped through followed by a bear-like paw that quickly retreated following a flurry of shots from Jackson who was stationed nearest the anomaly edge.

Connor scrabbled over to the where the closing apparatus was set up and ready and pressed a couple of buttons. Suddenly the anomaly was no longer there.

“Is that it?” asked McLachlan. “Pushing buttons was all it took to close the sucker? Where are all the sabre-toothed tigers and dinosaurs I was promised? Two crates of bugs and a hairy arm aren’t exactly what I signed up for.” He made no effort to hide his disappointment. Apart from the gate-crash it had clearly all been a bit anti-climactic for his taste.

“Not much to look at, huh?” agreed Quinn. He paused to catch his breath. “But like the TARDIS it’s bigger on the inside and full of monsters and magic. Maybe next time you’ll get lucky with a T Rex.”

The two Special Forces men present who had had the experience of getting lucky with a T Rex made it clear that once was enough. There followed some good-natured ribbing.

The fact that Connor didn’t even acknowledge the Dr Who reference told Becker all he needed to know about his partner’s mood. Abby was hovering looking concerned, but after a few searching stares between the two of them had the good sense to keep quiet. She began dismantling the anomaly equipment since Connor was making no move to do so.

“The rucksack, Conn,” Becker prompted. “What did you want to do with it?”

“I – the office. I need to put it in the office. There’s a filing cabinet. I know the way.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Becker.

“No.” Quinn had somehow put himself between them. “I’ll go with Connor. You clear up here. We’ll meet you back at the trucks.”

Connor looked between them, clearly torn.

“Go with Danny,” said Becker turning away. “You’re on his team, after all.”

So it was Quinn and Connor, rather than Becker and Connor, who received the full force of the final explosion when the last two tanks of half-cooked entrails burst their metal bounds. Luckily the contents were no longer boiling. Becker supposed he should feel a certain satisfaction in the result. The Special Forces men certainly found it hilarious. Becker just really wanted to go home.

 

*

The ARC, when they finally reached it, was as quiet as a major research facility ever got, with only the night teams and general security remaining on duty, plus Lester, who chose his own hours and who was standing by the railings over the central atrium presiding over the return of the last of his bedraggled troops. The gate porter had already informed Becker that Abby and her team had finished their debriefings and departed for home about 30 minutes earlier. Danny and Connor shuffled stiffly off towards the locker room while Becker made his way up the ramp to where Lester waited for him to make his report.

“Problematic,” Lester observed.

“Not to mention messy.” It was a lame response at best and fell flat under Lester’s total non-reaction. Becker moved swiftly onto his account of the day. Of course Lester knew all this already anyway from Jenny and Abby and from Danny’s initial phoned report but he was a stickler for the formalities. So was Becker if it came to that. He summarised the day briefly and without emotion:

“The anomaly was closed successfully and all creatures safely returned or otherwise accounted for. There were no ARC casualties. We have one confirmed death, Edward Farley, although Farley confessed to being responsible for at least five other killings on the site. No further bodies were found. There is, however, material evidence that will link him to at least some of the missing children. The remainder of the damage is property related.”

Lester’s hands tightened on the railing so the knuckles showed white. He gave a humourless laugh. “So a modern day Sweeney Todd has been running an anomaly-aided savoury pie factory in the middle of Warwickshire but it’s no longer a problem because you’ve blown up the evidence?”

“It blew up before we got there,” Becker corrected him. Lester gave him a sideways glare and he continued hastily, “Otherwise, you’ve pretty much got it in one.”

“Just once I wish we could make the omelette without breaking the eggs,” Lester complained, adding bitterly, “It really doesn’t help with the insurance premiums.”

There was a pause and Becker wondered if he should go. “Anything else you want to add?” asked Lester without looking at him.

“No,” said Becker firmly. He had a good idea what else Abby and Jenny’s personal reports might have included but he had no intention of discussing it now.

“Very well, you can go,” said Lester dismissing him. “I have a bedtime story I’m already late in reading.”

“Yes. Right. Absolutely,” said Becker, since some sort of response seemed to be called for in the light of this wholly unexpected personal information. Lester had a home life? Who knew. “I’ll just have a word with my men and, um, scramble for the weekend.”

Lester sighed and looked, if it was possible, vaguely disappointed. He turned back to the deserted well where the anomaly detector glowed silently and stared into its depths. “I’ll be expecting a full written report on Monday. Take Scrappy home and try and keep out of trouble at least for a couple of days. The ARC did well today, Becker, all of you. It was the right choice to investigate.”

“Thanks,” said Becker, and surprised himself by adding. “Have a good weekend.”

Lester merely grunted.

*

The journey from work to the flat was undertaken in silence. Becker was still trying to sort out the mess of his feelings, where professional and personal collided, and how he could ever apologise for man-handling Connor the way he had while getting Connor to understand that what he had done was utterly and completely and inexcusable reckless, before he risked speech. Connor simply stared out of the window all the way and continued to look anywhere but at Becker as they parked the car. They entered the apartment still without having exchanged a word and Becker wondered if they were going to spend a whole weekend in similar state and, if so, how he could stand it.

He determined to say something. Anything. What he was wanted to say was, ‘I was scared. I don’t want to lose you,’ but that seemed impossible at the moment.

“Why don’t you go and shower?” suggested Becker since that seemed innocuous enough.

“I should go and wash,” said Connor, speaking at the same time. His lips twisted, “Yeah, I get it, I smell. I’ll go and shower and try not to get any gloop on the towels.”

Becker didn’t reply. He had remarked once that washing was supposed to remove dirt before it was deposited on a clean towel. He thought he’d been pleasant about it and Connor had taken the reminder in good part. Apparently not.

Perhaps the whole idea of their happily learning to live together was some sort of elaborate fiction Becker had created in his mind. Perhaps they’d had never really been happy at all.

 

Becker made a pot of tea while Connor showered and pulled out a packet of digestive biscuits from the cupboard. It was way past dinnertime but he didn’t feel hungry. They could make something quick later if Connor wanted, or order in. Meanwhile, while he waited, Becker pottered around the kitchen wiping and re-wiping surfaces and straightening tins aware that he was indulging in displacement activity even as he worked. He considered joining Connor in the shower and decided against it. They really needed to talk and Becker wasn’t looking forward to that one little bit.

Connor emerged from the bathroom wearing track pants and nothing else. There were deep indentation marks on his shoulders and circles of broken skin on his wrists. He’d combed his hair and pushed it back but already the damp strands were falling forward. Becker suppressed an urge to tuck them back again. Seeing Connor like this ignited the anger all over again. At Connor. At himself. At Danny. Whichever way you played it, Connor had risked their lives. Good cause or not, he had behaved recklessly. In the army he would have faced a court martial.

“You’ve cut yourself,” said Connor touching Becker’s face lightly. He sounded distracted. Becker remembered vaguely some flecks of plasterboard falling against him as they exited the factory. It wasn’t anything major or he would have had it seen to at the time. “You should clean that up before it goes sceptic or something.”

“Later,” said Becker. “Conn, we need to talk.”

Connor stilled and then suddenly and quietly snapped, his face taking on a strangely blank expression. “No. No. We really don’t.”

“I think we should.”

Connor’s response was to ignore this and reach for Becker’s shirt. He started pulling it upwards. “You know what, Becker, I don’t care what you think. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to analyse, discuss, evaluate, or whatever you want to call it. I don’t want to listen to a lecture on good behaviour or how hear stupid you think I am. Right now I just want to fuck. So can you shut up so we can do that?”

Becker nodded. This was not a Connor he recognised and it left him uncertain as to how he should react. If it came to it, he could easily over-power Connor from any single one of his advantages of height, weight or training but any physical restraint now would be unthinkable. Completing the move Connor had initiated, he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor. As soon as he had finished and dropped his arms Connor started working at the fastenings of Becker’s trousers.

Whatever Becker’s emotional misgivings, his body was responding to the familiar fingers working their way along the crack of his arse. He raised his hips from where they rested against the edge of the table to allow Connor to push his trousers and pants out of the way. That done, Connor turned Becker round pushing him down over the table.

A finger probed his arse and retreated.

“More,” grunted Becker.

“I said ‘shut up’,” snapped Connor and bit him on the back. “And keep your hands on the table.”

“Shit!” Becker jerked in sudden pained surprise, and when he focused again he released that Connor’s initial finger had been joined by two others and he was being stretched methodically. The intruding digits were slick with lube and he realised that Connor must have been planning this even before he left the bathroom. The fingers were replaced by the slow burn of Connor’s cock sliding in. Once fully seated he leaned against Becker’s back and gently sucked the bite. Then he began to move fast and hard, both hands gripping Becker’s hips, stroking his prostrate with impersonal skill.

It didn’t take long. Becker wanted to touch himself but kept his hands fisted on the wooden table as instructed. Connor came with a wordless cry and pulled out almost immediately. He pulled Becker upright and turned him forwards with a tug on the hips. Satisfied Becker was where he wanted him Connor dropped to his knees and took Becker’s hard cock in his mouth swallowing until the organ pushed deep against the back of his throat. He started sucking hungrily. Pinioned against the table, Becker gripped Connor’s hair for leverage, balls pressed against Connor’s chin as Connor worked his throat muscles convulsively. It was easily the most aggressive blow job Becker had ever experienced. He came shooting hard into the wet heat, sated but empty.

It was the first time they’d had sex without kissing.

Connor slumped on the floor, gazing unfocused into middle distance, eyes huge and unhappy. He leaned against a cupboard door arms wrapped around his knees. His mouth was red and swollen and his hair a mess.

Becker made it to a chair and propped his elbows on the table.

A painful silence fell, punctuated by the sounds of their breathing slowly evening out.

“Becker,” whispered Connor at last, voice roughened, making his name both a question and a statement.

“It’s alright,” said Becker, meaninglessly. “It’s alright.”

Becker got up, limbs stiff and realised once he had done so that he had not real idea what he intended to do next. “D’you want something to eat?”

Connor gave a choked sound and made for the sink with a hand across his mouth. To Becker’s horror he started throwing up, dry heaving again and again, long after the contents of his stomach had been thoroughly emptied.

Becker got a glass and poured some mineral water and put it by the sink. Connor looked up at the sound and looked away. “Could you leave me alone, please.”

Rejection didn’t get much plainer than that. Becker went.

 

Running usually cleared his head and it worked now even though his recently-fucked body protested and the clarity was unwanted. The exercise had given him the necessary perspective that Connor was far more likely to be throwing up in reaction to the day as a whole than from instant revulsion at the taste of Becker’s come. But either way the dismissal was undeniable. He ran for a couple of hours before tiredness kicked in along with the realisation that he had to go home sometime and it was too late to just turn up at a mate’s door without offering some sort of explanation he wasn’t prepared to give.

The flat was in darkness bar a small table light left on in the hallway. A strong smell of bleach drifted out from the kitchen. Becker showered quickly, and went to bed wearing boxers for the first time since he could remember. Connor was pretending to be asleep. He was lying on his side on the edge of the bed as Becker slid in.

“Conn,” he said quietly. The response was a muffled sob. Becker debated going to him but couldn’t face another rebuff. He retreated to the opposite side of the bed and shut his eyes.

 

*

When Becker woke up he was alone. That in itself was enough to cause consternation – Connor never got up first – before his brain caught up with itself and he realised why he was alone. At any rate, Connor was still in the flat as Becker could hear him clattering about in the kitchen.

He got up and followed the sound.

Connor was dressed in jeans and a red hoodie. He had a small holdall with him and was clearly preparing to go out. He looked guilty at Becker’s approach. Probably he wanted to be gone before Becker woke.

“Are you leaving me, Conn?” asked Becker.

This is what life did. It gave you things and then snatched them away with no reason. Becker didn’t even know how he’d failed so spectacularly in the space of a single day, only that he had and here was the proof.

“What? No!” That at least was true. Connor was a terrible liar. His attempt at nonchalance was equally unsuccessful. “Do you want me to?”

“Of course not,” said Becker.

Relief flooded Connor’s features. That was something. Becker was not alone in his misery. There was a mug on the table. Becker automatically picked it up and took a sip, grimaced, and put it back down again. Connor flicked on the kettle and pulled a clean mug from a selection draining on the sink. He retrieved his own drink and cradled it in his hands.

“I am going out but just for a bit. I was coming back… To sort things out.” The last words were said hesitantly. Connor was clearly as lost as Becker in this situation.

The kettle clicked off. Becker made a move to get up but Connor motioned him still and pulled down a jar of coffee. Instant, but Becker didn’t have the heart to argue. It would be just one more thing. He accepted the mug handed over to him. Connor joined him at the table.

“So where are you going? To see Abby?” Becker tried not to feel jealous.

Connor shook his head. “Not Abby. I can’t tell you.”

Becker tried to summon yesterday’s sustaining anger but just managed weariness. “Can’t or won’t? I guess that tells us all we need to know about how you feel about me. I don’t blame you for that.”

Connor’s reply took Becker by surprise. It didn’t seem to fit. “I know you think I’m stupid.”

“I don’t,” said Becker at once. “I think you’re impetuous to a fault but I have never, ever thought you were stupid. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“You said I was behaving stupidly.”

“Shit, Connor, you know I lost it. I can’t defend anything I said or did,” said Becker and stopped himself just in time from adding: And tell me you don’t know that feeling. He just couldn’t go there yet.

“You’ll think this is stupid.” Connor was obviously edging towards a confession. A small amount of liquid had spilt on the table. He drew coffee circles with one finger.

Becker watched him waiting for a clue about to say next. Eventually he gave up and said, “I guess we’ll never know since you’re not willing to trust me.”

“I’m afraid you’ll try and stop me.”

Becker sighed. “Connor, we’re not at work, and even if we were I have no power to stop you making your own decisions. If yesterday did nothing else it must have proven that to you.”

Connor got up and put the kettle on again even though neither of them had finished their drinks. He began to speak.

“Yesterday. Before you came, Farley was talking. No, that’s no right. It started earlier. Danny and I went into the factory grounds and the phones and radios stopped working. Danny went to try and find a hotspot where he could get in touch with you or Abby and I stayed and started exploring the building. The place was deserted. I guess the Friday deliveries had come and gone or whatever, but there was literally no one there, just the stoves boiling away on their own. Anyway, I found the anomaly easily enough. I was going to go back and get Danny when Farley appeared.”

“How did he catch you?”

A brief self-deprecating grin flickered on Connor’s lips. “The usual way. A big stick and a blow to the head. When I woke up I was tied to a chair and Farley was evil overlording over me.”

“Did he hurt you?” Becker couldn’t quite bring himself to spell out what he meant.

Connor quirked an ironic eyebrow before responding, “No. Nothing like that.” He came back to the table, brushing his hand fleetingly against Becker’s. “He just couldn’t resist talking at me before getting rid of me. Telling me about the children.”

“He murdered those children?”

“As good as.” Connor looked sick and his voice trembled with sudden distress. He took a sip of coffee, obviously buying time. “Once someone found out that he was…um…utilising a cheap source of future protein for his products Farley needed to get rid of them. He couldn’t bring himself to kill them directly – that would have been kinder – so instead he pushed them through the anomaly and let fate take its course. All those years, Becker, can you imagine what those families went through not knowing what happened to their loved ones?”

Becker didn’t need to imagine. He’d been in war zones. But he’d signed up for that. Connor hadn’t. He made his voice gentle, “They’ll get some closure now. Maybe not the whole truth but enough to be able to move on.”

“And you know what’s the worst?” It seemed now Connor had started he couldn’t stop talking. “Farley told me why those three kids had been trespassing that day. They’d stolen a comic from a local shop and needed to find somewhere secret to read it. How pathetic is that? Farley laughed about them crying. He said they wanted to know if they said that they were sorry and put the comic back he would let them go. If he would let them phone their mums. How could he do that? For fuck’s sake, Becker, they were kids.”

A shop. A forest. A room. A cave. A lonely ending far from home. Becker hoped it had been quick but he remembered the beasts, and somehow doubted it. For a moment he was sorry that Quinn had been the one who shot Farley. He would have liked to have done it himself.

Connor was speaking again, reminiscing. “Me and Tom and Duncan once stole a graphic novel.”

“Why?” asked Becker, slightly confused at this tangent, but content to follow wherever it might be leading.

“We were sticking it to the man. I don’t know. We were fighting the capitalist masses. I felt bad and pushed the money through the door the next day. As it turned out both Tom and Duncan felt equally bad and did the same thing. So the shop got paid three times. It was a Watchmen novel, special edition. I don’t what happened to it. Tom had it for a long time stuffed in the back of a drawer. But then he died and I don’t know what happened to his things. None of us ever wanted to read it.” He gave a crooked smile.

“But what about today?” asked Becker, bringing the subject back to the present, not without reluctance.

“That comic they stole was in the rucksack. I want to put it back. I know it won’t make any difference at all but it’s the one thing I can do for those kids. One small thing I can put right.” He looked defensively at Becker. “I told you you’d think it was stupid.”

Becker shook his head. It was quixotic in the extreme. The whole thing made no sense whatsoever but he understood why Connor felt he had to do this. “Will you let me come with you?”

“Yeah, I like that. But only if you’re sure that’s what you want.”

 

They drifted into the bedroom. Becker needed to get dressed and spent time debating between two black t shirts, aware that Connor was staring, knowing how much Connor admired his body. He bent over the open drawer, flexing the muscles on his back and was not surprised to hear footsteps padding up behind him.

Connor slipped his arms around Becker’s waist and leaned in. His lips ghosted over yesterday’s bite. “Are you getting dressed or what?” he spoke against Becker’s skin.

“Or what? I’ve decided it would be much better if you got undressed,” Becker said, pushing the drawer shut and turning around. After all, there was only so much talking you could do. This was one thing they needed to put right by touching. Still entwined Becker walked Connor the few paces backwards to the bed.

Then they were lying there kissing, open mouthed and exploratory.

“You’re supposed to get undressed,” said Becker after a while as Connor seemed quite content to lie in his arms for the foreseeable future.

“I can get undressed lying down here. It’ll be easier.” Connor stretched lazily.

“Not for me,” observed Becker, all the same starting by tugging at Connor’s wrist warmers and wincing a bit the exposed bruises.

“What shall we do?” asked Connor when he was finally naked. There had been a great many layers to remove and Becker had taken his time over each one.

“You want a tick list? We can do whatever you want. You just have to ask.”

Connor watched him, gazing up through his lashes, expression oddly uncertain. He moved Becker’s hands to his shoulders, matching the finger marks. “I want you to hold me down.”

 

*

Trent Forest was high on the list of places that Becker had hoped never to have to revisit. At least the journey was quicker this time and the town centre parking was cheap but that was about all you could say.

They agreed to enter the store separately. Connor had assured Becker he didn’t need to go in at all, with the frank assessment that Becker simply didn’t look like the kind of person who would frequent a comic book store. Becker hoped that was a compliment. He wasn’t entirely sure that Connor fit any stereotypes either although he was wearing a Buffy t shirt under the familiar hoodie and black jeans. To Connor’s disappointment, Becker had vetoed his hat on the grounds that it was too noticeable.

The whole return and replace operation should only take seconds, of course, but Becker did not suppose that Connor would be able enter a retail outlet dedicated to science fiction and not become instantly entranced.

Last Christmas Connor had spent two hours in Forbidden Planet in London queuing to get a signed copy of a dinosaur book for Abby’s present. That was before they had got together and Becker’s main reaction had been relief that he had not been subjected to the Forbidden Planet experience beyond Connor’s very long and convoluted retelling of it.

Becker gave Connor fifteen minutes browsing time before following. He used the waiting time to stroll through the town centre with its mixture of low-end high street chain stores and charity shops. The bakery had a sign declaring pasties were off but still seemed to be doing a good trade in sandwiches and buns.

The Comic Emporium was rather bigger than Becker had anticipated and seemed to snake through much of the basement space of the shops above via a series of small rooms. The place was busy and filled with a mixture of customers, young and old, clearly functioning as a meeting place in a town where there was no McDonalds. A coffee vending machine and a few chairs and tables occupied the main central space. There were posters advertising books on the walls and stacks of flyers for local events spread around the tables. Becker moved through the rooms, each one dedicated to an individual franchise or merchandising specialism, pausing here and there for a few minutes. No Connor. Becker went round the shop one more time working methodically room by room to no avail. Then he checked outside. There was still no sign.

Really? Again?

At least this time it was not likely to be something life-threatening. Becker pulled out his phone and began to text.

The plain clothes security guard was pathetically easy to spot as he rifled through the dvd racks in what was obviously intended to be a casual manner. Becker certainly didn’t threaten him but the man proved very keen to point out the location of manager’s office.

“We have a huge problem with shoplifting,” he said apologetically. “It’s new management policy that we get tough and prosecute. Anyone acting suspiciously gets taken aside and gets a bit of short, sharp shock. Nothing too serious, just enough to put the wind up them, if you know what I mean?”

“All too well,” replied Becker with a stare straight from Sandhurst that had the guard squirming. “And are you operating on a quota system for potential miscreants apprehended? I presume there’s some sort of incentive in it for you.”

The security guard blushed and backed away. He needn’t have worried. Becker had already lost interest in him.

 

The manager’s office was reached by a small wooden flight of stairs. The door was closed but unlocked. Becker simply turned the knob and strolled in. There were three people in the room but Becker was only concerned about one of them.

“Really Connor?” he asked, making himself comfortable on an orange-cushioned stool.

Connor’s answering grin contained embarrassment mixed with obvious relief. He was perched on what looked suspiciously like an old kitchen chair, sitting awkwardly having been handcuffed by one wrist to one of the metal bars. He lifted his free hand and gesticulated. “Why do people keep tying me to chairs?”

“That is a very good question,” replied Becker easily. A quick glance had reassured him that the cuffs seemed to be loose, designed to hold rather than cause pain. “It does seem to be a frequent occurrence. It’s definitely something you should be asking yourself about. Let me know when you have some answers.”

After initial exclamations of outrage at the intrusion the other occupants of the room had listened to this byplay in silence. Now though, the larger one of the pair stood up and faced off to Becker. He was around mid-thirties with blond hair pulled back into a pony tail. “What the hell kind of joke do you think this is? This is private property. I could have you arrested for trespassing. The police are already on the way to arrest this thief.”

Connor couldn’t allow this slur to go uncontested. “I was not stealing,” he said indignantly.

“That’s your story. What do you call this then?” asked the second man, who was dressed in jeans and a Spiderman t shirt and was obviously another of the store detectives. He picked up the comic in its plastic casing and waved it under Connor’s nose.

“I was putting back it! Well, I guess I was technically handling stolen goods but I didn’t actually carry out the original theft and I can’t tell you who did, but it was all a long time ago. Check the date on the cover.” He ground to a halt temporarily cowed by the expressions of disbelief in the faces in front of him.

“Oh, like you don’t know we carry vintage stock. If it wasn’t you, who did carry out this theft?” scoffed the manager, Steve Caldwether according to the badge on his shirt, doing what was obviously his best threatening act. Becker gave him six out of ten, awarding points for scale and volume and taking them away for obvious bluster. There was an old-fashioned CCTV monitor on the desk but from Cadlwether’s demeanour Becker was guessing that the in-store cameras had been turned off and he was relying on confession rather than visual evidence.

“I can’t tell you,” said Connor looking to Becker for guidance.

“Thought not,” said Caldwether unpleasantly. “Well you can tell your stories to the police and see how far they get you. I’m sure they’ll be interested in what you have to say. If I’m not mistaken that’ll be them now.”

Connor was starting to look a bit panicked at this point. Cells made him slightly claustrophobic. “What? No! You can’t arrest me. That’s totally out of order.”

Becker was about to intervene and put a stop to this whole business when the police arrived. Actually it was only a single policeman who knocked before entering even though the door was ajar. He was wearing full uniform and holding the remains of a sandwich. He took the last bite in a leisurely fashion and swallowed before speaking.

“You Temple?” he asked Connor, who nodded. The policeman turned to Becker. “Then you must be Becker. Danny said you’d have poncy hair and be dressed in black.”

“And I was completely right on both counts!” noted Quinn who had bounded into the room in time to hear the end of this speech. He looked hugely entertained by the scene that greeted him.

“You took your time,” said Becker, who estimated that Quinn had somehow managed a ninety minute journey in a little over twenty minutes.

Quinn grinned, eyes crinkling. “Believe me, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Jenny arrived just moments later with a click of high heels on the stairs. Somehow this did not surprise Becker although he had not contacted her. She was dressed in a coffee-coloured silk dress with cream shoes and bag. Her hair was hidden under a huge dress hat. Although it was now crowded in the small office the men automatically made room for her. She looked around, taking in the situation, and focused her attention on Connor.

“You look very pretty,” he said.

Jenny accepted the compliment graciously. “Thank you, Connor. I’m attending a wedding.” She became brisk. “There seems to be some confusion here and a clear case of false imprisonment. Do those ridiculous cuffs have a key?”

Caldwether dropped any pretence of being in charge of the situation and produced a key without a word. Jenny had that effect on people. She unlocked the metal hoop securing Connor’s wrist with an audible click. Connor smiled up at her gratefully. She smiled back at him. “Now, Connor, do you wish to press charges for false imprisonment?”

“No.”

“Good decision. In that case, I suggest you and Becker might like to leave and let me clear things up here.”

It was obvious that her suggestion was an order. Connor picked up his bag and dropped the disputed comic inside. No one tried to stop him. He moved towards the door, but as he passed Quinn the latter shot out an arm. “Need to having a word with you on Monday, Connor. You know why.”

Connor nodded. “Yeah,” he said in a small voice. “I’ll find you first thing.”

Jenny beckoned Becker as he made to follow Connor out. She reached into her silk clutch bag and retrieved a couple of sheets of paper folded over to fit the tiny space. “Here. These are for you and Connor. Don’t open them now as they’re not being published until Monday.”

He took them without comment. Jenny smiled. It was clear that whatever she might say about needing to be elsewhere she was enjoying herself. “Lester has a message for you. He says don’t even think about leaving your flat tomorrow as he wants a peaceful Sunday with the family.”

Becker tried and, once again, failed to imagine Lester in anything but a suit and in a formal business setting. “Bedtime stories, Jenny,” he said, knowing she would understand.

Her smile grew wider. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

Quinn had the audacity to wink at Becker as he went past.

“Pasties,” said Becker and winked back.

 

On the grass verge opposite the shop there was a small helicopter. Parked beside it on the road was a dark blue Mercedes with a uniformed chauffeur sitting in the driver’s seat. Both machines were surrounded by a group of staring people and a bemused traffic warden. One small mystery solved, then.

Connor was sitting cross-legged on the grass watching the commotion. He jumped up when Becker appeared and walked in tandem with him towards the park where they had left their car.

“Sorry,” he said.

“What for?” asked Becker, automatically manoeuvring so he took the outside of the pavement.

“Oh, you know. Everything. Today, yesterday…all that... stuff.” Connor scuffed his feet along the paving, jumping now and then to avoid the cracks.

“I hear the global warming specialists are pretty pissed off with you too,” said Becker dryly.

“Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not.” Becker assured him, draping an arm across his shoulders companionably. “I’m just trying to get you to see things in perspective.”

“Danny’s mad at me,” said Connor glumly.

“That one you can have and with good reason. You deserve to be spanked for what you did.”

“I hope not,” said Connor. “You can come and watch if he does.”

A wave of possessiveness swept through Becker, his fingers tightened on Connor’s shoulder. “No one’s going to touch you but me.”

Connor leaned in slightly in response, before replying cheekily. “Fine, Danny can watch. You do the spanking.”

 

Becker recognised the painted sign from the picture Connor had sent yesterday. It looked less colourful in reality with the paint clearly chipping and needing a re-varnish. They were eating chips from a van in the park. That is, Connor was eating and Becker was people watching.

“That cut on your cheek’s starting to bleed again,” said Connor suddenly dabbing it with his napkin.

Becker jerked back. “Ow! Stop it, there’s salt on that you sadist.”

“Only sometimes,” said Connor carefully. “It’s not a life skill.”

Becker moved back, taking the paper cloth out Connor’s hands just in case, and replacing it with his own unused napkin. “I know. We’ll call it a sub-specialism, to be utilised in times of extreme duress.”

“It’s a bit like a duelling scar,” continued Connor, eyes narrowing at the pun, before choosing to ignore it and segueing back to the previous subject. “Or a lightsabre injury. Very romantic. People used to get duelling scars deliberately, you know. It’s very hot that mean and moody look. You could totally pull that off.”

“That reminds me,” said Becker, reaching into his pocket. “I bought you something. I know you like Star Wars.” He pulled out a tiny lightsabre keyring about two inches long. A twist on the handle turned the light off and on.

“Thanks,” said Connor, with surprised delight. He turned the switch on and made a few attacking sweeps. “What a pity you don’t have one. We could have had a battle.”

“Well,” said Becker, shiftily. “Since you ask.” He pulled out a second keyring.

For a while they sat on the bench and fenced with the tiny weapons. Becker won, but only Connor assured him because he had bought himself a double headed Sith blade and was thus an emissary of the Forces of Darkness.

“The Forces of Light just weren’t up to much when it came to it,” mocked Becker.

“No.” Connor switched the tiny light off and dropped the keyring in his holdall. “The Forces of Light pretty much sucked. This has all been a bit of fuck up.” He pulled the comic out. “I might as well chuck this. You were right. It was never going to be more than a meaningless gesture anyway.”

Becker took the comic off his hands. “It wasn’t meaningless. It’s the trying that counts.” He produced the sheets of paper from his pocket. “Jenny gave me this to give to you.”

Connor unfolded the sheets. Becker had already seen the headline but he read it again now: Factory of Death. Mystery of Missing Children Solved: DNA found in factory ruins.

“I don’t think you can call that meaningless,” said Becker as Connor read. The story continued over two pages with pictures of the ruined factory, its products, Edward Farley, and finally, in an offset panel, the missing children their camera-posed smiles frozen forever in time.

“It’s something,” admitted Connor. “It’s not really justice though. The families will never get the full truth about what happened. And there’re probably more of Farley’s victims out there that we don’t know about.”

Becker took the pages off him and folded them away.

“The point is there won’t be any more victims in the future. Sometimes ‘something’ is as good as it gets and it has to be enough,” he said.

There were a great many children playing in the park. At random Becker approached a quartet of boys who were kicking a ball half-heartedly into a goal marked out by piles of jumpers. He had brief word and handed the comic over. Unwanted duplicate, he said. They accepted it without much interest. Perhaps one of them would keep it and enjoy it. Or they’d leave it on a bench forgotten. Or a park keeper would find it and throw it away. It didn’t really matter.

Around them people talked and laughed. Mothers pushed their children in prams. An ice cream van switched on its bells playing a tinny rendition of ‘Teddybear’s Picnic’. An old man sat down in Becker’s place on the bench and began feeding pigeons from a bag of grain.

Becker took Connor’s hand, lacing their fingers together, and pulled him to his feet.

“Come on, Conn, it’s time to go home.”


End file.
